


The Light of Hidden Flowers

by nondeducible



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo is a flirt, First Kiss, Flower/Tattoo AU, Fluff, M/M, Needles and Roses AU, Romance, Thorin is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nondeducible/pseuds/nondeducible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months into opening his new flower shop, Thorin knew his regulars fairly well. The most fascinating regular, however, was the man who came in often enough to be considered one, but Thorin could never predict the timing of his visits. Strangely, while Thorin never had any real urges to get to know his customers, the irregular regular man fascinated him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light of Hidden Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aconissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconissa/gifts).



> A million years late but it's finally here! A commission for aconissa who asked for my take on an awkward romance between florist!Thorin and tattooist!Bilbo. I hope you enjoy it <3 As always, thanks to Ashleigh and Soli for kicking this into shape.
> 
> This AU was created by tosquinha and radiorcrist, I'm just borrowing it for a sec.

A few months into opening his new flower shop, Thorin knew his regulars fairly well. Most of them came in at exactly the same time on exactly the same day, so occasionally Thorin could prepare their orders in advance.

There was the older gentleman, always dressed in grey, who came in every two days exactly five minutes after Thorin opened the shop. The man had an ever present smell of pipe tobacco around him but Thorin had yet to see him actually smoke one. The man only ever asked for a single white carnation for his boutonniere and never dithered to make polite small talk, something for which Thorin was immensely grateful.

Every Friday, just before closing time, a perpetually busy man would come in and buy a dozen red roses for his wife. Thorin once made the mistake of asking him about said wife, in a non-committal polite small talk kind of way, and the man didn’t shut up about her beauty and grace until Thorin not so politely pointed out he needed to close the shop. Nowadays the man, an accountant with a son and a dog as well as the aforementioned wife, talked for the both of them unprompted while Thorin only grunted and tried to get the roses ready as quickly as possible.

A fussy man came in every three to four days to buy an elaborate bouquet for his tea shop. He always looked groomed to within an inch of his life, whether he was wearing a suit or a jumper carefully draped over his shoulders, his beard neatly trimmed and his nails polished. The man knew exactly what he wanted each time, something to do with the tea tasting sessions he was running at his shop, which made Thorin’s job a lot easier. That, and the fact that the man would occasionally bring him tiny pots of exotic tea as a thank you, made withstanding his endless droning about tea brewing and wine tasting a little bit easier. Thorin never admitted it to anyone but he really did love the flower teas.

The most fascinating regular, however, was the man who came in often enough to be considered one, but Thorin could never predict the timing of his visits. Sometimes he’d show up at Thorin’s shop two days in a row, sometimes he wouldn’t show up for weeks. His purchases also never had any pattern to them and usually involved a bunch of assorted flowers the man chose on a whim. Strangely, while Thorin never had any real urges to get to know his customers, the irregular regular man fascinated him.

The Man, for Thorin had yet to even ask his name, was currently in his shop after a three week absence. He was looking at the lilies, seeming a bit surprised at the variety on offer. Thorin was behind the counter towards the back of the shop, rearranging his scissors and ribbons for the third time since the man had come in, and definitely not using that as an excuse to observe him surreptitiously.

“Excuse me?”

Thorin shook out of his reverie, tearing his gaze away from The Man’s honey brown curls.

“Could you help me a bit?” The Man smiled at Thorin and gestured towards the lilies.

“Of course,” he said clearing his throat, walking towards The Man. “What do you need help with?”

“Hm, right yes, well. I wanted to buy some lilies but I know one of them is associated with death and funerals.” The Man gestured at the lilies again. “I can’t remember which one it is. Don’t want to get the wrong ones, you see.”

“Calla lilies,” Thorin said quickly, completely mesmerised by The Man’s smile and his dark blue eyes. He pointed at the white, trumpet shaped flowers. “They symbolise rebirth and purity.”

“Oh, right. Yes, they do look familiar now that you mention it.” The Man looked at the white flowers wistfully, with a faraway look in his eyes.

Thorin didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t know whether The Man was referring to a recent loss or something that had happened years ago. Thorin cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said gruffly.

“Hm, what? Oh gosh, no, no, it’s fine. Nothing happened recently.” The man smiled up at Thorin again and Thorin was powerless to stop his own face lighting up with a smile in response. He felt something warm and comfortable settle in his chest.

“Calla lilies are not actually lilies at all,” Thorin said, still looking into The Man’s eyes. The Man gazed back at him unperturbed, a small smile still playing on his lips. “Neither are lilies of the valley.”

“Oh, right.” The Man looked down at the flowers and pointed to a bunch of brightly coloured, bowl shaped blossoms. “What about these?”

“Classic stargazer lilies,” Thorin answered. “The colour defines the meaning. White symbolises sympathy and pink means wealth.”

The Man hummed and bent to pick up a bunch of smaller, brightly coloured flowers with striped petals.

“Peruvian lilies,” Thorin said without being prompted. “Friendship. And devotion.”

“Lilies are a funny shape, aren’t they?” The Man mused. “A bit… pointy.”

“The Greeks actually considered their shape phallic and associated it with—” Thorin stopped himself abruptly. He could feel his entire face turning red and fervently hoped his beard covered the worst of it. The Man looked up at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Yes?”

“Um. Well, the shape. It made them think of, well.” Thorin was sure he was about to burst into flames. “It was a symbol of sex,” he finished quickly, looking at the flowers and avoided The Man’s amused gaze.

“Did they? Well, I better get a bunch of those, then.”

The Man handed Thorin the flowers with a grin and walked towards the counter without waiting for Thorin to compose himself.

Thorin prepared the flowers without thinking, concentrating on his work and trying not to see the serene and knowing smile The Man wore the entire time.

 

:::

 

Several days after The Man bought the Peruvian lilies, Thorin found out his name was Bilbo Baggins and that he ran a local tattoo parlour. The manner in which Thorin came to know all this had not been, even in his own humble opinion, the finest moment of his life. In fact, when Thorin finally relented and told Dwalin what put him in such a sour mood, Dwalin proceeded to laugh so hard he fell off the chair he was sitting on. It did nothing to lighten Thorin’s mood or dispel the lingering embarrassment about the whole debacle.

It all started because he noticed the lilies in the window of a tattoo shop. Thorin had never paid any particular attention to “The Old Acorn” apart from being aware it existed. He knew Dwalin had been there a few times to get his tattoos but Thorin himself had never felt a particular urge to get one.

The flowers looked slightly out of place in the front window, bright and colourful, not something usually associated with tattoo parlours. Thorin stopped to stare at them and felt a pang of something in his chest. Of course. Of course, The Man bought them for someone. Peruvian lilies meant friendship and devotion, and didn’t he decide to get them specifically after Thorin mentioned sex as well?

Thorin clenched his fists and steadfastly ignored the tiny embers of hope fizzling out in his chest. He got stupidly attached to a customer against his better judgement, based on nothing more than, well. How The Man looked when he smiled, when the light bounced off his hair, when he asked Thorin questions and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, as short-lived as it was.

Now Thorin wanted, _needed_ , to know who the flowers were for. The surge of protectiveness, definitely not possessiveness, he felt over one of his regular customers fuelled his ill-thought-out decision to barge into the tattoo shop. He wanted answers, from someone, about a man he didn’t even know, and he wanted them now goddammit.

Thorin stopped dead in his tracks three steps into shop. Towards the back of the room was The Man himself, rearranging bottles of ink and cleaning supplies and humming quietly to himself. And oh, if Thorin thought he might’ve fancied The Man a little bit before, he knew he was well and truly gone on him now.

Every single time The Man visited Thorin’s shop he had his shirt primly done up at the collar and he never exposed any skin past his wrists. Now, the first few buttons of his multicoloured shirt were undone, exposing a patch skin around his collarbones, and god did Thorin want to bury his nose there. The Man’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms completely covered in brightly coloured flower tattoos. His hair was pulled back from his face by a headband, a few curls escaping its confines to bounce around his face as he worked.

Thorin would’ve stared for a lot longer if it wasn’t for the polite cough to his right.

“May I help you, sir?” A young girl with bright pink hair smiled at him sweetly from behind the counter.

“Oh. Um,” Thorin replied eloquently. Now that he was inside and discovered the flowers were brought here by The Man because he worked here, Thorin had no idea what to do next. He could already hear his sister cackling at his lack of foresight, and winced. The girl looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, hello!” Thorin was saved by The Man spotting him from across the room and abandoning his tidying to come over. “You here for a tattoo or a piercing? I didn’t think we had anyone booked until afternoon, Primula?”

The second question was directed at the girl with pink hair who grinned at Thorin.

“We sure don’t, Bilbo. I think this gentleman just wanted to say hi.” Primula’s smile turned mischievous.

“Oh.” Bilbo looked taken aback for a second but then turned to beam at Thorin. “Hi.”

Thorin was so caught up in wondering what The Man’s hair smelled like he barely noticed he finally knew what his name was or that he was actually meant to respond to the greeting. The silence stretched awkwardly and Thorin felt a blush creeping up his face at roughly the same pace Bilbo was raising his eyebrows in bemusement.

“The stockroom is in _desperate_ need of cleaning,” Primula announced loudly and trotted off towards the back of the shop, winking at Bilbo as she walked past him.

“Thorin Durin,” Thorin said gruffly and stuck out his hand formally. Primula choked somewhere in the background and Thorin spared the stockroom door a glare.

“Bilbo Baggins, pleased to finally meet you properly Mr Durin,” Bilbo said still smiling and shook Thorin’s hand.

“Just Thorin.” He kept shaking Bilbo’s hand for far longer than necessary. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind what was now essentially vigorous hand holding.

“Well, ‘just Thorin’, is there anything I can help you with or did you really pop in to say hello?”

Thorin finally let go of Bilbo’s hand, only to curl it into a light fist and cough into it awkwardly.

“I saw the, ah, flowers. The lilies you bought the other day.” Thorin gestured to the flowers in the window.

“The Peruvian lilies!” Bilbo said excitedly as he walked over to them. “They do look a bit out of place, probably not the kind of stuff most people expect in a tattoo shop, but I wanted something to brighten up the place. And, well,” Bilbo added a touch shyly,” I used them for drawing practice.”

Something clicked in Thorin’s head.

“So _that’s_ why you buy flowers? To practice drawing?” Thorin asked, slightly hurt and affronted that his flowers were silently upstaging him.

Bilbo frowned at Thorin’s scandalised tone, mistakenly interpreting it for condescending judgement.

“The flowers are mine to do what I please with once I buy them,” he replied coolly.

“No!” Thorin nearly shouted, trying to backpedal furiously from his earlier harsh words. “No, I mean—I just hoped,” he added more softly, “I hoped it was more than just flowers. That kept you coming back.”

Bilbo’s frown dissipated and was replaced by a slightly exasperated fondness. Thorin felt hope bubbling up in his chest once again.

“Much more.” Bilbo smiled up at Thorin and Thorin couldn’t help smiling back. They stood in silence grinning at each other, completely oblivious to the world around them, until Primula made a pointedly noisy return from the stockroom.

“Well, the stockroom is _definitely_ tidy now,” she announced as she flopped down on one of the sofas in the shop. She winked at both Bilbo and Thorin, who both turned red and suddenly shook out of their besotted stupor.

“Right, yes, I have to go back—”

“Yes, yes, I’m not done with the—”

“—I have a delivery of flowers later—”

“—need to get ready for the customers, you see—”

“—remember to water the lilies sometimes—”

“Yes, well, um, take care?” Bilbo said, suddenly uncertain, at Thorin’s back as he hastily retreated from the shop. Bilbo flapped his arms and rocked on his heels as he took the shop in. “Hmm, yes, need to tidy—the inks! Yes, that was that,” he muttered to himself as he trotted towards the back of the room. The tips of his ears were still bright red and the ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

On the sofa, Primula mentally patted herself on the back.

 

:::

 

Over the next few weeks Bilbo stopped by Thorin’s shop almost every day. Sometimes he came in the morning for a quick chat and a cup of flower tea. Other times he came round in the early afternoon during his lunch break and dragged Thorin outside the shop to sit in the sunshine among the flowers. Thorin pretended to be grumpy and reluctant, and Bilbo let him kick up a fuss. Sometimes Bilbo didn’t come in until nearly closing time and on those occasions would often help Thorin close down the shop, completely ignoring Thorin’s protests about needing help. Bilbo also had an annoying habit, in Thorin’s opinion, of bringing delicious homemade food with him almost every time he popped in. It was annoying because Thorin had yet to resist the temptation to indulge in Bilbo’s heavenly cakes.

Bilbo made friends with all of Thorin’s regular customers. The grey-clad gentleman turned out to be an old family friend of Bilbo’s by the name of Gandalf, a local lawyer who dabbled in almost everything that caught his interest. The babbling accountant was overjoyed to have someone new to talk to, and Bilbo withstood Gloin’s family tales with impressive stoicism. The fussy tea shop owner and wine merchant, Dori, once got into a heated discussion about food with Bilbo. Thorin spent the entire time making the bouquet for Dori looking between him and Bilbo like he was watching a tennis match. Thorin didn’t even care what the argument was about, he just liked seeing Bilbo this animated and a little flushed.

Thorin was surprised Bilbo wanted to spend so much time with him. Cheerful, polite but firm, adorable, Bilbo who seemed to bring sunshine and warmth wherever he went. Thorin had been told, both by his relatives and close friends, that he was a bit stand-offish and grumpy but Bilbo didn’t seem to pay any attention to it, as if he knew most of it was for show anyway. And so it went on like that for weeks; Thorin pretending to be grumpy and choosing the most beautiful flowers for Bilbo, and Bilbo not caring a whit about Thorin’s moods and filling him with delicious cakes. Neither voiced it but both felt this, whatever it was between them, went beyond a simple friendship.

 

:::

 

Several weeks after Thorin barged into “The Old Acorn” in a fit of jealousy, they were both sitting in the back of Thorin’s shop and chatting. It was past closing time, the “Closed” sign already flipped on the front door, but neither Thorin nor Bilbo made any attempts to tidy up just yet. There were finishing off the leftovers of the Thai takeaway Thorin ordered when the subject of Bilbo’s tattoos came up.

Bilbo told Thorin the meanings behind his tattoos one by one, Thorin occasionally tracing the outline of the flower reverently with a finger and making Bilbo shiver with how tender the touch felt. Thorin told Bilbo more about the flowers themselves when prompted but mostly stayed quiet.

“Why is there an empty spot here?” Thorin asked and touched an unmarked patch of skin near the inside of Bilbo’s elbow. He cupped Bilbo’s forearm in his large hands and caressed the outlines of the bare skin.

“Oh. Um.” Bilbo blushed right to the tops of his charmingly pointy ears. “You’ll think I’m being ridiculous.”

“More ridiculous than you are already?” Thorin teased lightly with a smile. His fingers never ceased their gentle caresses.

“Oh shush, you git,” Bilbo said without any heat. “It’s for someone special. I haven’t had any—I’ve been alone most of life, you know, since my parents died.” Bilbo looked down at his colourful arm cradled in Thorin’s strong arms. His tone turned wistful. “Not for lack of trying but… I just never gave up hope, I guess.” Bilbo shook his head and chuckled ruefully.

Thorin remained silent and when Bilbo looked up to meet his gaze he was unprepared for the intensity of it.

“This is the bit where you tell me I’m being silly,” Bilbo joked weakly. He suddenly became aware that Thorin’s hands had stopped their tender caress of his inner arm and Thorin simply held Bilbo’s hand between his own. Bilbo felt as if his heart was about to beat out of his chest and he was sure he could feel Thorin’s heart beating just as fast.

“No,” Thorin replied firmly. “Wishing for something to make you whole, whether you have never grasped it or you have lost it, is not ridiculous or silly.”

Bilbo knew there was something more behind Thorin’s words, a deeply personal and painful story he yearned to know. But he also knew now was not the time to ask.

Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand and interlaced their fingers together. With his heart in his throat he stood up, walked around the table they were sitting at without letting go of Thorin’s hand, and stood in front of Thorin directly in the vee of his legs. Thorin remained silent and for once his face betrayed no emotion.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Bilbo raised his free hand to touch Thorin’s bearded cheek. He felt rather than heard the slight hitch in Thorin’s breath, and before he lost his nerve, bent down to kiss him.

It was a simple and chaste touch of lips, lasting barely a few seconds. Just as Bilbo was about to back away and apologise for misreading the situation, Thorin let go of Bilbo’s hand and wound his arm around Bilbo’s waist to bring him closer. He sunk the other hand into Bilbo’s hair and seemed to positively melt under Bilbo’s touch. Bilbo cupped Thorin’s jaw with both hands, running his fingers through the soft beard, and angled his head slightly. He swiped his tongue across Thorin’s lips and Thorin opened his mouth with a groan.

Thorin clung onto Bilbo and kissed back with a passion Bilbo never dared to dream of. Thorin’s hands caressed Bilbo’s back and sides, petted his hair and neck, restless as if he couldn’t get enough of him. Bilbo concentrated on the kissing itself; the way Thorin’s lips felt under his own, the softness and gentleness of his tongue, the deep rumbling noises he could draw from him whenever he bit Thorin’s lip gently.

Their kissing was slowly growing more heated, and soon Thorin pulled Bilbo into his lap. Bilbo couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped him when he felt Thorin’s body flush against his own. The noise made Thorin slow down, petering down to small soft kisses and gentle nuzzling.

“We might be getting a bit ahead of ourselves,” he rumbled. Bilbo draped his arms around Thorin’s neck and bumped their noses gently.

“I’m really not bothered about that.”

“It’s just,” Thorin paused to place a lingering kiss under Bilbo’s jaw, which made Bilbo sigh. “I don’t want this to end tonight.”

Bilbo held Thorin’s head between his hands and kissed the tip of his nose. “Neither do I, you ridiculous man.”

Thorin huffed in feigned annoyance and hugged Bilbo closer. Bilbo hummed in contentment.

“I guess this counts as our first date then,” Bilbo remarked. Thorin pulled back to look at the table strewn with takeaway boxes, flower clippings, wrapping papers and ribbons, scissors and various other rubbish. He grabbed a Peruvian lily which had fallen off its stem earlier that day and tucked it behind Bilbo’s ear with a smile.

“You ridiculous, soppy romantic,” Bilbo mumbled against Thorin’s mouth.

They kissed amongst the flowers until the first rays of sunshine lit up the flower shop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII.
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr!](www.nondeducible.tumblr.com)


End file.
